


found a little love

by simplestar



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Fluff, M/M, Pining, angst if you squint, basically what happens after the danceracha live, chan is a flirt, make-out sessions haha, minho has a a crush, that's the whole plot, they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23972437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplestar/pseuds/simplestar
Summary: maybe if chan hadn’t said anything this morning, maybe if he hadn’t paid attention to him, just maybe, minho wouldn’t feel like he’s slowly losing his mind.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 28
Kudos: 293
Collections: The Ultimate Minchan Masterlist





	found a little love

**Author's Note:**

> basically i went through a crisis because of dancer minho with long hair so i birthed a minchan story out of it

Minho’s sitting in silence, Hyunjin and Felix long gone. 

He stares at his reflection, unmoving, chest heaving and his sweater absolutely drenched in sweat. It’s nearing one in the morning and he should be drained, but there’s still something buzzing in him, like a flame burning in the back of his brain and refusing to be put out.

So he danced until his limbs gave out, until his lungs felt like they were gonna explode, and now he’s on the floor, still in the same state of restlessness, but this time with a body aching all over.

He groans, letting his back rest on the floor and his arms spread out at his sides. The ceiling looks like it spins a bit and Minho starts feeling dizzy as he stares at the lights until he sees pink and green dots clouding his vision. 

He closes his eyes, sighing.

 _This is all Bang Chan’s fault_.

Maybe if Chan hadn’t said anything this morning, maybe if he hadn’t paid attention to him, just maybe, Minho wouldn’t feel like he’s slowly losing his mind.

_“You look good with your hair like this.”_

Minho gulps, begging his brain to stop rewinding the same sequence of events over and over again. He squeezes his eyes tightly at the memory. It’s been the reason of his torment ever since they left the dorm, ever since he parted ways with Chan, ever since the words left his mouth.

“ _You think so ?”_

And Chan had smiled. Not the kind of smile that reaches his eyes, not the kind of smile that makes his eyes shimmer. His smile had felt like a secret, like it should have been addressed during something special and confidential. Minho felt like he was undeserving of it.

 _“Yeah you look beautiful_.”

Minho turns on his side, curling up on himself, his cap slowly falling at the side of his head.

Does he ? Does Chan believe he looks good ? Does Chan really think he’s beautiful ?

Minho slowly blinks, staring at the door. He wants to be beautiful in Chan’s eyes, he has known this for a while. He thinks about it every time they’re alone with each other, every time he feels Chan’s lingering gaze on him. 

Fantasizing about it is one thing, but it becoming reality is something else, and Minho doesn’t know how to deal with it, how to handle the thrill it brings him.

Chan and him have always played a game of push and pull, except Minho wishes they were only pulling closer and closer without any push ever occurring. 

When Chan’s fingers lightly tap on his wrists, he wants to hold his hand, when Chan’s breath rests upon his ear as he whispers something to him, Minho wishes his lips would travel down to his neck. 

Minho itches when they’re far from each other, he wants to be flush against him. He wants to taste, and tug and marvel and relish in Chan’s very essence and it hurts. It hurts because he feels like he’s getting a small bite of the cake when he wants the entirety of it for himself.

Before this morning, Minho had never dared to hope that something more could happen. He was content in believing that he was just a source of distraction for Chan, that it was just them being playful and a bit friendlier than they should be.

But then, Chan called him beautiful. 

And so, Minho hoped. 

This slither of hope keeps Minho’s mind busy and awake. It makes him believe that the door is suddenly gonna swing open and Chan will be here, and will take him in his arms and confess his undying love to him.

 _Yeah, in my dreams._ Minho blows a strand of hair out of his eyes before slowly getting up to gather his stuff. If he’s gonna wallow in his misery, might as well do it in his bed in the comfort of the dorm.

As he closes his bag and puts his cap back on, Minho hears some shuffling outside the door. It's not uncommon, even at this hour, it’s most likely a cleaning lady or someone getting out of the room beside his.

And then the door clicks.

Brain going a hundred miles per second, Minho keeps still, eyes screwed to the door, waiting to see who came to pay him a visit. Could this be-

“I knew you were still here.” His manager sighs, and Minho does the same, for an entirely different reason.

“Don’t give me that attitude.” He chuckles. “You and the boys were supposed to give back the keys to the room almost an hour ago now, I came to kick you out.”

“I was leaving anyways.” Minho gets his bag and starts walking towards his manager. “Wanna come home with me ?”

“Actually i have to deal with some stuff beforehand, you don’t mind going alone right ?” Minho shakes his head as he hands the keys to his manager.

“No it’s okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then ?”

“Yeah, and could you check on Chan before heading back ? I wanna making sure he ate something.”

Minho stops for a moment, and stares at his feet. The idea of seeing Chan when he’s the object of his current meltdown has him both frightened and feverish. No matter how he feels, it’s not like he has a choice, and him too, worries about if Chan has been taking care of himself tonight. 

“Sure,” He says. “I’ll get going then.”

His brain barely registers the friendly wave his manager gives him before he starts walking towards the elevator. It’s like his thoughts are competing, racing the fastest they can until he goes crazy, or too nervous, or crazily nervous. They bump and toss and turn until Minho steps in the elevator and lays his eyes on the mirror.

He looks rosy and glossy, his cheeks prettily pink and his irises sparkling with a newly-found exhilaration - the one that comes when he knows he’s gonna see Chan while knowing he’s head over heels for him. He turns his eyes away, feeling a bit embarrassed by the picture of him looking so overjoyed at the thought of seeing a boy.

It’s not any boy though, it’s Bang Chan. His leader, his friend, his confidant. Chan who comes to him and only him when something serious has happened and he needs to talk about it. Chan who doesn’t conceal his emotions in front of him and isn’t scared to let everything out. Chan who’s the only one realising when Minho feels a bit under the weather and is trying his best not to show it. Chan who notices his every move, because Minho is too damn clumsy and would probably have broken a few legs if Chan wasn’t always there to catch him.

Chan who feels like a summer night, quiet but filled with happy whispers and vibrant lights. Chan is a firework who hits him right in the chest and sizzles inside of him even when the show is over. He’s a permanent weight in his ribcage, hurting in the best way possible.

The elevator stops, Minho goes out.

Before Chan, he was always awkward with the thought of romance. He didn’t think it was something which he was destined to encounter, and he was always too timid to tackle the subject when an opportunity would occur. He would shy away from any possible broken heart and was fine with enjoying his own company.

However now, he was ready to hand Chan his erratically beating heart on a platter even if it meant risking watching him shatter it in millions of pieces. The thought was scary but comforting, because he was ready to enter the lion’s den but also because he was going there willingly.

Only a few steps and he would be in front of Chan’s studio. He exhales once, puffing his cheeks, letting warmth pool in his guts as he steps in front of Chan’s studio’s door. He holds his fist tightly against the door, ready to knock, ready to cry, ready to let his entire pour out, and it shouldn’t be this hard to ask your teammate if he ate well but somehow it feels like it’s the hardest task he ever had to accomplish.

One, two, three knocks, and Minho waits.

Minho waits and he’s met with absolute silence.

How typical of Bang Chan. It’s usually hard to discern any noises outside of Chan’s studio because of the door's thickness, but it doesn’t help that Chan usually puts his headphones at an abnormally loud volume whenever he’s working on music.

Carefully, Minho opens the door and peaks his head inside, refraining on chewing on his own lip at the sight of Bang Chan’s back muscles clad in one of his black t-shirts. Chan is, as he thought, working hard, and looking a bit frustrated judging by the hand tightly clenching his blonde hair.

Minho steps inside, and when the music coming out of Chan’s headphones comes to a stop, he closes the door behind him.

“Hyung.” He calls out, almost sounding anxious.

Chan spins his chair around, removing his headphones, and upon seeing Minho, he gives him that smile again, the tender one, the lazy one, the blazed one.

“Hey, you.” he almost whispers, his voice sounding rough and tired. “What's bringing you here ?”

 _You_. _I want to see you, you, you_. Minho almost answers, desperate to voice out his adoration. But he bites his tongue and rolls on his heels, looking at Chan with a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes. Chan recognises it, and immediately he’s beaming, grin toothy and expecting.

“Manager-hyung asked me to check if you weren’t dead, I’m merely obeying orders.” He says cheekily, observing Chan as the older raises an eyebrow.

“And here I was thinking you came of your own will, I’m offended.” Chan guides his chair in front of him, looking up at him. 

His eyes look like the night sky, dark and ready to fall asleep, particles of stardust here and there. Minho wants to dive in them and stay there for days, lazily floating, until he’s unable to stay afloat anymore and he lets himself drown. Looking at Bang Chan being so gorgeous always makes him experience a little taste of death in the most delicious way.

“How was your day ?” Minho looks at him softly, through his long bangs, eyelashes fluttering against the strands of his hair.

“Tiring.” Chan sighs, and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he goes to nuzzle his head against Minho’s stomach. He stays there, breathing, eyes closed, seemingly revelling in the moment while Minho has forgotten how to move and is going through a hundred crises at the same time. “‘Am tired.” Chan mutters against Minho’s sweater, the vibration of his voice feeling so warm on Minho’s stomach, his legs almost give out.

They’ve been affectionate before, more times than they would like to admit. But this time they’re alone in Chan’s studio and the lights are dim and it’s late and Minho likes Chan so so much, it’s hard to not lean down and kiss his face all over.

Instead, heart beating loud and strong, Minho brings his hands to Chan’s hair and strokes it gently, massaging his scalp, bringing his thumbs to the shells of his ears until they go up to his temples. He repeats the action, Chan exhaling against him, his breath warm and relaxed.

“Have you eaten ? Drank enough water ?” Minho counts the seconds waiting for an answer. His breath is almost knocked out of him as Chan gently brings him closer by the waist, his fingers digging in the small of his back. Chan nods nonetheless, and Minho feels relieved because he knows he’s being honest. Chan never lies to him.

Minho is ready to let go. He _has_ to let go because words are knocking against each other in his mouth and he feels them almost spilling from his lips. “That’s good,” he takes a step back, but is almost immediately stopped by Chan’s ankles crossing themselves against his calves. 

“What are you ? A sloth ?” Minho mutters, albeit a bit loudly. He can only blame that on his nervousness going through the roof as he feels Chan all wrapped around him, so close it hurts, so close he wants to be even closer.

“Don’t go.” Chan mumbles, the sound almost muffled by Minho’s sweater.

“What do you mean ‘don’t go’ ?” Minho asks, voice sounding so small as he tries to play this whole thing off, as he tries to convince both himself and Chan that this is just another one of their silly games. 

Chan is pulling, but right now he’s pulling so hard that when he pushes, Minho won’t be able to do the same. Minho will only want to pull if he keeps it up. And the thought of not being able to fight back is too scary.

“It means stay.” And Chan does exactly what Minho was dreading, he pulls harder, closer.

Except Minho can’t resist like he promised himself. How can he when Chan’s piercing gaze is drilling through his eyes, looking like he’s reading him like he would read his favorite poem.

Chan settles him on his lap, slowly caressing his thighs, and Minho shivers, feeling like he’s been struck by lightning, electrified all over, his fingers tingling as he rests his hands upon Chan’s shoulders.

“What are you doing to me Bang Chan ?” He murmurs, scared out of his mind, but also blissed out. He’s terrified the entire world is playing a joke on him, that Chan is gonna push him onto the floor any minute now and he’s never gonna get to be this close to him again.

“What exactly do you want me to do to you ?” Chan whispers back, voice low and full of undertones.

Minho almost throws himself out of his lap because why, _why_ does Chan have to look at him like he’s about to feast on him, like he’s the sweetest jawbreaker of them all. It does things to Minho’s heart, it burns him so so good like a bonfire in the middle of the night. 

But Chan’s grip is iron on him, adamant on keeping him right against him. So Minho stays, like Chan asked, and his eyes leap right into Chan’s ones.

“You can’t say things like that.” Minho’s lip trembles, mimicking his entire body, as if it were anticipating something, but something he has no idea of.

“Why can’t I ?” Chan smiles, teasing, dimples showing, obviously enjoying the way Minho squirms above him.

It wounds Minho. Because Chan is engulfed in their usual game, but Minho doesn’t want to play. It has stopped being a game a long time ago for him.

“Chan can we…” He stops himself, frightened. The look Chan gives him, however, encourages him to go further. Chan would never hurt him purposefully. Chan would never make fun of him. Chan cares for him. “Can we please stop playing ?”

One of Chan’s hand reaches up. It fondly brushes Minho’s hot red cheek. Chan’s thumb traces his cheekbone, his lash line, the tip of his nose, his cupid’s bow. The rest of his fingers travel down his neck and his jaw. Chan is everywhere. On Minho’s face, below Minho’s thighs, in Minho’s mind. It’s hard not to feel a stinging bite in his throat and a storm raging in his eyes. Chan is nothing but overwhelming.

“You’re so pretty Minho.” He gently tugs at Minho’s hair. “Why do you have to make it so hard for me ?” His fingers slowly spread out in Minho’s hair, massaging him, bringing him impossibly closer. 

Minho’s mouth is dry, entirely devoid of speech and answers. All he can do is stare back, stars blowing up in his eyes and his chest, as his mind is slowly emptied of any coherent thoughts, just colours and emotions and loud sounds. _A firework_.

He brings his face closer, his lips brushing over Chan’s, the world going in slow motion as he puts his mouth against Chan’s for a split second, before realising what exactly he’s doing. He pulls away, fast, as if he just was burnt, and he’s ready to spurt out a dozen apologies as panic creeps up his spine, making him feel so cold and so sick he could pass out. “I’m so so-”

Chan shushes him, rubbing comforting circles against his hip bone as he seeks Minho’s eyes which look desperate for an escape. “Minho, look at me.” He slowly guides him back to his moonlight gaze, still so dark, still so bright. “Kiss me again, baby.”

He slides his hand delicately on Minho’s nape, guiding him towards him. He looks at Minho’s shaky pupils, his eyes so reassuring it gives him the reason to break the space between them and finally give into Chan’s spell. Their mouths clash against each other, and Minho has to refrain himself from whining at the intense turn their kiss is already taking.

Chan tastes like sour peaches and he’s impatient. He’s a rough kisser, Minho discovers, as he can already feel his tongue touch his, turning in a delightful motion, it makes him dizzy in seconds. Chan’s lips are biting and intoxicating, kissing them feels like bathing under the hottest sunset, and Minho feels tipsy at the sensation.

One of Chan’s hand snakes underneath his hoodie, underneath his undershirt, coming to caress his sore kiss deliciously, while the other pulls at Minho’s long hair, clenching the strands in a vice grip, hurting so good, scorching so hot.

At first a bit hesitant, Minho’s fingers slowly explore Chan’s torso and his nape, his touch agonizingly delicate and teasing, it makes Chan groan against his mouth.

Both out of breath, they slow the pace of their kiss, a feather light brush of mouths here, a sting caused by Minho’s teeth on Chan’s lip there. It’s over too soon, too quick for their tastes but they both know that words are needed for once and they can’t kiss their way out of it.

“Chan, I like you.” Minho says suddenly, surprising both of them. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing, or just a casual fling.” He shallowly exhales.

Chan leans up, kissing his bottom lip, while bringing him flush against his chest. “It’s too hard to resist you anyway.” He smiles up at him, his eyes searing hot. “Minho I like you too, if I wasn’t obvious enough already.”

“You’re the absolute opposite of obvious.” Minho scoffs, putting his arms around Chan’s shoulders, choosing to ignore the way his toes curl up in his shoes at the confession, choosing to forget the rush of euphoria flowing in his veins.

“I beg your pardon ?” Chan raises his eyebrows, still smiling wide. “I don’t go around telling absolute nobodies that I think they’re beautiful.”

“Shut up, you knew how this was gonna affect me." Minho hits his shoulder hard, ignoring Chan’s whining.

Minho’s entire face basks in warmth, and Chan’s laugh sounds like honey dripping on bare skin. It feels like a divine fantasy, capturing the both of them in its luscious and magical trap. But the harmonious beating of their hearts against each other and the sickeningly sweet remain of their kiss on both their tongues grounds them both. They both gave in to each other, and reality has never felt like this much of a daydream.

"Come home with me ?" Minho mumbles against Chan's lips before kissing him again, savoring his sweetness. “Please ?” He adds for good measure, enjoying the obvious effect this has on Chan as the latter’s hands travel dangerously underneath his lower back.

“Anything for you.” Chan kisses the side of his jaw softly, lightly sucking on it. “Anything.”

They don’t go home right away, they talk, they laugh, they play around, and they take each other far far away, without words. Just a kiss, just a gaze, just interlaced thoughts cherishing a heavenly silence.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> minho never cut your hair please.


End file.
